Absolutely (Larson)

by Melissa Veracruz

  Extremely grudgingly, I go inside to get my phone and pull up the offensive messages. I pass the phone to him, saying nothing. I'm frustrated because he’ll see and he won’t care, as usual. He blames me for his daughter’s suspension, after all. Who knows what story she had to sell him to get him to believe her innocence in the locker fiasco?

  Only he doesn’t react like I expect. His face turns bright red and his eyes narrow. “You got these while Reyna was suspended?”

  “Yes, sir,” showing him respect I certainly don’t feel.

  “You know what this means, Miss Ramos?”

  “Unfortunately,” I reply on a sigh.

  Officer Castro sighs also and says, “Another trip to the station, I'm afraid. Mr. and Mrs. Ramos, will one of you be joining her? We’ll need a statement and copies of the messages for our records.”

  I flop unceremoniously down onto the porch steps which miraculously escaped the food bomb. What a crap way to begin the day. Brisa sits down beside me, and I rest my head on her shoulder.

  “Want me to text Kiel?” she offers.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Ashlyn, go get ready,” Mom says. “Dad is going with you.” I stomp into my house, resigned to missing school again to hang at the station. I sure hope these trips are considered ‘excused absences’ ‘cause I'm racking them up.

  My dad called in some favors to friends of friends to find a clean-up crew available immediately. Thank goodness. The smell is atrocious. Officer Castro has to drive us to the station because of how disgusting Dad’s car is. Mom said she’d hitch a ride from an employee of hers.

  It didn’t take long, and a different officer drove us home. Dad went all old-school and biked to the restaurant, leaving me at home with the crew already hard at work. With my phone safely back in my possession, I text my three people, giving them the Twitter version. Abridged.

  I flop down on the couch and sulk. Kiel texts back a little later.

  Do you need me to pick you up at lunch? he asks.

  Please! This place stinks, I type back.

  Be there soon, he says.

  Then texts from Jenna and D'Nae come in regaling me with the lowdown.

  Lots of kids taken in. Cars r being searched, Jenna messages.

  That was fast…, I reply.

  You should see their faces! D'Nae texts.

  Glad I can’t, I tell her. I mean that wholeheartedly.

  ***

  Kiel sweet talked his way out of Spanish class early to pick me up. Sadly, we aren’t alone at my house; the crew is outside busily raking, scrubbing, and de-forking. We seize the few minutes we do have because those guys in the yard are as bad as nosy neighbors. A few kisses and he may have slipped his hand up my shirt, but that was it.

  “Your yard is disgusting by the way. I don’t think I've ever seen all those things done at once to the same house. Massive undertaking with the labor and monetary backing,” Kiel says.

  “Yeah, what a waste of resources. It’s ridiculous how much TP went into the mix. Oh, and Dad mentioned the messages, so I had to submit those into evidence.”

  “Well, Reyna’s father personally took her in. I saw him with her as I left. Destruction of public property and threats to a fellow student. He has to take it seriously now. Or at least make it appear as though he is.”

  I sigh with regret at having to going in to school. “Maybe we could just stay here for the rest of the day.”

  “I think not. We’d do all sorts of things we shouldn’t.”

  “My point exactly!” I exclaim as I pull him close.

  Kiel groans and says, “We gotta go to school now, chica.”

  “Ooh, I know that word!” I say, excited. Which makes Kiel double over in laughter and call me hopeless again. Thanks to my hot-as-heck tutor, I'm making progress, laughable as it is.

  Chapter 18

  Kiel

  Larson High School is trying to make the high schools in Dallas look like they’re all Buddhist temples. Not that they can truly compare, but dang if the arrest rate here wasn’t giving DISD a run for its money. There are six students taken to the police station for vandalism of private property. Reyna, Lauren, Britney, Jacob, Jackson, and a junior named Sloan (whom they used for his truck).

  Ashlyn and I make it back to school with minutes to spare for lunch. Grabbing bags of chips and bottles of water, we become the center of attention in the lunchroom. Well, most of the attention. The true band geeks are totally oblivious to the teen soap opera occurring in their midst.

  “You gonna be ok in fourth?” I ask her, concerned.

  “Miller’s here today, right? I'll sit by him just in case.” I point to him outside at the tables.

  “Yeah, but I'll go ahead and walk you to class. Reyna may not be here to harass you, but her groupies are everywhere.”

  Draping my arm around her shoulders, I guide her toward her locker. I've already cleared off the fork mobile some crafty vandal hung on her door. Thankfully there's nothing inside, and I get her to fourth making it to my own class with seconds to spare.

  In Pre-Calculus, I'm getting handwritten notes from all over the room which I toss back. Good thing they don’t have my cell number. Liam and Tómas, who do have my number, want to know about the most current situation. I message them the latest stupidity. Throughout class, Miller keeps me updated on Ashlyn, knowing I’d want to know the tiniest detail…or he was simply bored to tears in Government.

  Tómas texts me again, though he's right beside me.

  U still taking her to homecoming?

  Yeah, I text back.

  Order her mum yet? he asks.

  Damn! I reply.

  Ha!

  Not laughing, I text.

  Ur in luck. My sister makes them. Come by 2nite, he tells me.

  I nod in agreement. That settled, I text Ash to let her know I'll be going to Tómas’ house after I drop her off. No Spanish lesson for her, which makes me kind of miserable.

  ***

  Practice was brutal today with three of our key teammates out under suspicion of vandalism, it made it stressful. Two more of the players are picked up during practice, hurling it from bad to worse. We have to freaking make it to the game tomorrow. Coach Turner may be forced to promote some JV players to Varsity if the others don’t make it back without charges filed against them.

  Jackson had better not be guilty or at least not have charges pressed. I’d take either so we didn’t have to forfeit tomorrow. He’s my receiver of choice. I may not like him but he's good.

  Dropping Ashlyn off, I'm getting a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. She’ll be off at the mall trying on sexy dresses and I'll be picking out cheap plastic charms to impress her. If I hadn’t forgotten the mum, I’d be the one helping her in the dressing rooms. Inappropriate as it seems.

  At Tómas’ house with his sister, Flor, in the middle of piles of silk chrysanthemums, rolls of ribbon, and the strong smell of hot glue, I'm inundated. Along with whistles, plastic paw prints, megaphones, cow bells (it needs more, I tell her…she doesn’t get it), star chains, braids, curlicues, helmets, and what’s this? Feathers? No, I drew the line at feathers. Then I paid a ridiculous amount extra for the bear in a cheer costume. The whole time, I’m trying to place the stomach-pit feeling.

  I can’t shake it even when Flor asks what words to sticker to the ribbons.

  The year? Yes. Her name? Yes. My name? Hell, yes! A heart between our names? Sure, why not? Wait. That’s it. The stupid heart sticker is the mental elbow my mind needed. A sparkly, universal symbol of love. I'm amazed and scared. Isn’t that what awe is? That is what I am in. Awe.

  Smelling a distracted sucker, Flor pulls out the latest in homecoming wear. A tiny mum ring. Tiny is maybe unfair. It was a mini mum. More ribbon, more trinkets. She smelled right. Flor promises to have it all ready first thing in the morning. I pay the lady, exorbitantly.

  After all that thinking and mum choices, I'm beat. But I check my messages. Ashlyn sent a self
ie of her in a light green dress, then a pink one, a white one, and a neon pink one (which shows promise…and other things). I lock the phone when I see more are coming in. I kinda need to be alone for this and be able to respond. I bro-hug Tómas, thanking him profusely, and jet. I get in my Jeep and text her.

  Hey, let me get home. You still at THE mall? I ask.

  Yup, hurry it up, check them out ;-), is her reply.

  While I'm looking, I'm driving. I pull into my driveway and idle. There is a blue one with hideous pouf, a purple shiny one, and numerous other-colored ones I had no words for. Even the ugly ones look good on her. And each selfie has enough cleavage to make a guy uncomfortable in a good way. Finally, the emerald green one from the other day shows up in my messages.

  Which one? she asks, impatient.

  Still the green. But thx for the show,

  Ha ha, and then Dream of me, she texts.

  I text back, I will.

  The nervous feeling in my stomach hasn’t subsided, leading me into action. I need to see her tonight and there's only one way. I text Brisa to make arrangements.

  ***

  Ashlyn

  Jenna and D'Nae meet us at the mall. We struggle to find D'Nae a dress she can live with. She has scars on her upper arms from what looks like cutting. I can’t imagine the sort of pain that could make someone do that…I don’t say anything; if she wanted me to know about it, she’d tell me. Jenna doesn’t comment either, but we finally hunt down the perfect dress for her. Jenna finds herself a sweet one as well.

  I try on several, even though I'm pretty set on one in particular. Sure enough, Kiel still prefers the green one. That's good because it makes my hazel eyes pop and does some other key features justice. I buy it and we all head home.

  Brisa’s texting someone animatedly with a knowing grin. I ignore her and ask Mom about curfew tomorrow and Saturday night; it is homecoming after all. She gives us a sort-of-open curfew. We do anything irresponsible or reckless and ‘curfew’ will be a thing of the past. “Martial Law” I think is the term she uses for the consequences of foolish behavior.

  Brisa says, “Huh?” at the consequences part, to which Mom tells her to Google it.

  I try not to worry incessantly about a certain group of people who could turn my homecoming into a Carrie moment. Worrying won’t help, so I focus on Brisa’s continued text fest.

  “Who are you texting?” I ask.

  “A friend…” she responds evasively.

  Nevermind. I focus on the passing cars instead.

  “Mom,” I say, breaking the relative silence. “They did say they are delivering Kiel’s garter directly to him, right?” I don’t know why it matters so much to me.

  “And for the tenth time, Ashlyn, yes.”

  “Sorry. I need this one thing to go right. Because not much else is…” There I go with the near-whining.

  “Hey, I get it,” Mom sympathizes. “He's important to you.”

  “Maybe more than important to me,” I mumble quietly, twisting my hands together.

  “Aww,” Brisa coos from the backseat. “¡Que preciosa!”

  “What did she call me?” I yelp to my mom. They both fall out laughing. Mom is wiping her eyes. I need more tutoring…

  ***

  Brisa rushes me into our room, tossing on her PJs and getting ready for bed in record time. What the heck?

  “Get ready!” She pushes me into the bathroom and grabs her phone, speed-texting while pacing in front of the door. Shooting her a look that said I am going, I get myself ready.

  “That's what you're wearing?” Brisa frowns when she looks up from the phone screen.

  “Um, I thought so. It is bedtime…”

  Instead of speaking, she digs through my jammie drawer and pulls out a lace-trimmed cami and short gray boxers. “Here!”

  I stare at her offering, but don’t take it.

  “Listen, Ash,” as she shoves her selections into my unopened hands. “I'm about to go check to make sure Mom and Dad are safely tucked away watching their TV in their room. Then I am going to go watch TV for approximately two and a half hours. Oh, and be quiet.” She gives me her most serious glare and leaves, already re-attached to her phone’s screen.

  What’s the deal with her? I didn’t follow that convo. Ten minutes later, I'm still in my small white tee and black cut-off sweats, rolled at the hem. When I get a text from Kiel, it’s a shocker.

  I'm at your window.

  I gasp, putting my hand to my chest. I race over to the window and peer out. Sure enough, dang! I wish I had changed into the cami and boxers. Brisa! She could’ve explained. There’s no changing now; I need to get him inside.

  Inside. Of my room. Alone. ALONE. For two and a half hours.

  Less than that now… Ahh!

  I open the window and stand back so he can climb in. Thank you thank you thank you parents for choosing a one-story. He's in gray basketball shorts and a tight, white Under Armour muscle shirt. We stare at each other for a few seconds, not knowing what to do or say.

  I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly realizing I'm not wearing a bra. Nothing he hasn’t seen already, but in my room, the atmosphere is more intimate.

  “So, um,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I needed to see you tonight. It’s kind of important…” He looks away.

  I close the distance between us and lean, arms still securely crossed. Propping my chin up on his chest, I ask, “What is so ‘kind of’ important that you risked my nosy neighbors and alerting my parents?”

  He laughs and reaches up to pull the elastic holding my hair in a ponytail. My hair cascades down my back and he runs his fingers through it. “Well,” Kiel pauses to kiss me. “I was sitting at Tómas’ house, deep in thought. About you. About this feeling I started getting this afternoon.”

  “Did I feed you bad chips today at lunch?” I joke, interrupting him. I cannot fathom where he’s going with this.

  “No,” Kiel says, sounding determined to get his point across. “I was thinking about us.” His hands move to my arms, running them up and down. “I wanted to be there with you instead of with Tómas…Ok, so it sounds ridiculous, now that I'm saying it out loud…”

  I'm gazing up at him still, but his face is turned away from mine, seeming vulnerable. Of all the things he could’ve admitted to me, of all the things in the world. He’s admitting to being whipped. I didn’t see that one coming.

  “You're so whipped,” I whisper and press my lips to his to soften the affront to his masculinity. He takes the small kiss and transforms it into more. More intense, more passionate. Makes it sexier by tangling his fingers in my hair. I uncross my arms and wrap them around him, pressing our bodies together. He releases me so we can breathe.

  “Whipped, babe? I've been around you for a month now. You're strong. You're amazingly sweet. And you trusted me, confided in me, though I still don’t know what to do with that trust. Then you made me trust you. Nobody else knows those things about me…I trust you, Ash.”

  ***

  Kiel

  When I saw her in that white see-through t-shirt, I was speechless. Then she covered them up. Denied. But she tucks herself up against my chest giving me a great view of her hazel eyes. Ashlyn’s breasts aren’t what brought me here tonight, so I gotta focus.

  I am attempting to tell her how I feel about her without straight out saying I love her. It’s not like it’s easy to make that statement to a seventeen year old without possibly freaking her out. Hell, I'm freaking out just thinking it. So far, she’s deduced that I'm whipped. That's how well I'm coming across here. Trying again, I tell her she’s “sweet” and that I “trust” her. I think I got this! Until…

  In an unexpected move on her part, she yanks out of my hold. She steps away, arms crossing back tightly to cover her chest. “Um, OK?” she sounds confused. “Good to know.”

  “Ash?” I ask, thrown off my game. “What’s wrong?” What the hell did I say this time? We were fine only
seconds ago, our mouths stuck together as if breathing for each other. Maybe that’s what our mouths should have kept doing, in hindsight.

  “You trust me?”

  I nod.

  “I'm strong?”

  “Yes!” Where the hell are we heading with this?

  “I'm sweet?”

  “That's what I said…” Now I'm beyond thrown and into disturbed.

  “Add to that the feeling in your stomach about us?” Seriously. Those are all things I've said, so I nod. Dumbass move.

  “Are you trying to break up with me right before homecoming? I already bought the dress!”

  Wow, her deduction skills sucks.

  “What?” I yell.

  “Shh!”

  Quieter, I yell, “What?”

  “All that stuff you said. Do you want to stay friends?” she asks incredulous. “‘Cause I don’t think that’s gonna work…”

  I should stop her at this point, but I'm freaking out a little, here. My point was obviously muddled, but this? Left field.

  Her incredulity is verging on anger now. “I can’t even keep my hands off of you and you want to be friends?” Like I even said that! “As in friends with benefits?”

  “Ash,”

  “Friends?”

  “Ash!”

  “WHAT?” she hollers.

  “Stop talking! I don’t want to be friends—”

  “No. Oh, no. No, no—”

  “Ash! Shut up! I'm trying to tell you that—” Calming breaths. Calming breaths.

  “Did you tell me to shut up?” she yells at the same time I say, as calmly as I can, “I love you.”

  It goes deathly quiet. We hear the TV in the living room and glance at the door. Brisa is on damage control because her TV got louder to cover up the commotion we’ve been making. I hear their parents tell Brisa to turn it down. The volume goes down. That was our only warning and we both know it. Our phones go off at the same time, and we reach for them.

  Those r NOT the shouts I'm supposed to be drowning out!